Pink Quotes

“I like pink."
Lucius sniffed. "It's just red's sorry, weak cousin.”
― Beth Fantaskey, Jessica's Guide to Dating on the Dark Side

“Sunrise paints the sky with pinks and the sunset with peaches. Cool to warm. So is the progression from childhood to old age.”
― Vera Nazarian, The Perpetual Calendar of Inspiration

“...and so many colors
I will have seen...
the menacing greys
and pine greens
the soft pink and purples
of spring
and summer blue
and so many others
without you.”
― Sanober Khan, A touch, a tear, a tempest

“Silena appeared out of the woods, her sword drawn. Her Aphrodite armour was pink and red, colour coordinated to match her clothes and makeup. She looked like Guerilla Warfare Barbie.”
― Rick Riordan, The Demigod Files

“Pink is a beautiful color, because it is one of the colors that the sun makes at twilight and in the dawns.”
― C. JoyBell C.

“She stood by the tea-table in a light-coloured muslin gown, which had a good deal of pink about it. She looked as if she was not attending to the conversation, but solely busy with the tea-cups, among which her round ivory hands moved with pretty, noiseless, daintiness.”
― Elizabeth Gaskell, North and South

“As for me I will follow the path of the pink bunnies.”
― Magenta Periwinkle

“When you have been killed as many times as I have, you get used to it.”
― Peter Sellers

“Jaipur is a blushing bride draped in pink, dancing in our dreams while the peacocks sing.”
― Vinita Kinra

“Fish roe and butter makes for a truly exquisite pairing! By adding butter to pollock roe, with its clusters of firm little orbs just like miniature egg yolks, you take away any unpleasant fishiness from the roe, instead producing a sauce with an inexplicable fullness of taste that forms a perfect coating for the carbohydrates, setting off their plumpness and texture like a dream. Perhaps best of all is the pretty pink hue of the roe, like a gorgeous spring evening (you may know by now that pink is my favorite color!). The butter and rosy-colored roe combination coats each and every spaghetti strand, bringing out that delicious semolina scent and generating a flavor that feels like a wave of kindness rising up uncontrollably from inside your chest.”
― Asako Yuzuki, Butter

“Pink Japanese cherry blossoms kiss April’s soft blue summer skies.”
― Charmaine J Forde

“The martini glass teetered on the edge of the tray. When my waiter handed me the glass, the darker pink of the liquid splashed onto the lighter pink of the tablecloth. Maraschino cherries rimmed the orange slice floating in the center and the grenadine tinted the ice cubes pink.”
― Charlotte Silver, Charlotte Au Chocolat: Memories of a Restaurant Girlhood

“Meanwhile, on Dudley Road, stalks of rhubarb grew behind the blue-painted shed and roses bloomed on a bush above the cellar window. The swing set creaked. The stones in the garden path wobbled underneath my feet and there were pink sprigged cushions on the white wicker chairs on the porch. Inside, everything was pink and green, green and pink: the walls in my bedroom the color of the center of a raspberry thumbprint cookie, the floors the color of the sliver of green in after-dinner mints; the floor in my parents' bedroom the same, and the walls a smudged baby pink.”
― Charlotte Silver, Charlotte Au Chocolat: Memories of a Restaurant Girlhood

“White wrought-iron chairs scattered with blowsy cabbage roses. Robin's-egg blue porcelain cake stands, dotted with strawberries as small and red as lipstick kisses. Green-stemmed stools with speckled pink seats.”
― Charlotte Silver, Charlotte Au Chocolat: Memories of a Restaurant Girlhood

“Elizabeth gazed at the dress. It was one of her favorites, cut from pale-pink silk damask, with a tight-fitting bodice that sat low on her shoulders, designed to show her creamy décolletage to its best advantage. Silk-covered buttons fastened at the back and a sumptuous bustled skirt was caught up in a bow to reveal ivory satin beneath. Ostrich feathers, dyed to match the damask, waved at each capped sleeve.”
― Kayte Nunn, The Botanist's Daughter

“The diamond chandelier casts a warm glow across the shimmering silk dresses, spinning into romantic colors.
Rich bright gold, soft blush, and glittering champagne.”
― Kiana Krystle, Dance of the Starlit Sea

“The pink ingredient in your fried rice: it had to be these." Nagare produced a packet of fish sausages from a plastic bag at his side. "You must have noticed them in the rice?"
"Oh yes," said Hatsuko. "You know, I think I remember seeing something like that in our fridge."
"I picked these up in Yawatahama. A local butcher told me this brand was the closest you could get to the type Aihachi Foods used to make." Nagare set the sausages to one side, then produced another packet from his bag. "Now, this was the other reason for that pink color."
"What's that?" asked Hatsuko.
"A Yawatahama specialty. Kamaboko flakes. Just like bonito flakes, except made from kamaboko fish cake instead of tuna. They were invented back before people had fridges, as a way of making kamaboko last longer. Normally you'd sprinkle them over things like chirashi-zushi, but your mother decided they'd be a good addition to her fried rice. They make a pretty decent drinking snack too, by the way." Nagare opened the packet and retrieved a handful of the flakes, which he began to nibble on.
"So it wasn't just the fish sausage, then," said Hatsuko, also sampling the flakes.
"That's right," said Koishi, grabbing a handful for herself. "Given what they're both made from, it's no wonder you remembered the fried rice having a fishy flavor."
"As for the all-important seasoning," continued Nagare, "I imagine she used a mix of shredded shio-kombu and sour plum. That's where that tart aftertaste you mentioned came from. Then I realized: sour plum is pink too. It all fits the color scheme, see?" He showed her a can of the shredded kelp and sour plum mix. Hatsuko gave a deep, appreciative nod.”
― Jesse Kirkwood, The Restaurant of Lost Recipes

“Rose shook her head and dipped her brush into the Dusty Pink dollop on her palette, thinking it was so funny how heather the color was purple, but heather the plant was pink and yet looked remarkably like lavender, which was actually purple, and how beautiful the circle of life was. She slashed the canvas with bold pink strokes, making Heather look like a Renaissance painting of a romantic figure struck by arrows.”
― Goldy Moldavsky, Of Earthly Delights

“But there, climbing up the whitewashed brick walls of the garage, is the rose of my dreams, a rose so utterly charming, so delicate and fleeting that I can forgive him his screeching reds and wishy-washy purples. It is rarely without a flower, its petals open wide, in shades of cream, faded fawn and soft pink, and here and there a crimson petal or two. Each summer it is as if a hundred butterflies have come to rest on the wall, baking in the late-afternoon sun. (This rose, chinensis Mutabilis, is to this day my favorite.)”
― Nigel Slater, A Thousand Feasts: Small Moments of Joy… A Memoir of Sorts

“Once established, jasmine grows well in this garden, and there are three, no, four varieties now. A soft yellow, like clotted cream, that hangs loosely from the window boxes, shifting in the breeze. A pink variety, Jasminum stephanense, clambers up the brittle, naked stems of a much older plant, using its relative as a trellis. White stars of Jasminum grandiflorum cover the tendrils that have woven a canopy over the courtyard, a fragrant white parasol whose petals fall like snowflakes each autumn.”
― Nigel Slater, A Thousand Feasts: Small Moments of Joy… A Memoir of Sorts

“We also went back to les Halles Bocuse because we simply cannot get enough of the place, and because we wanted to try the pink praline tart. I can't remember Chef Antoine talking about the pink pralines of Lyon, but shame on him, because they're a really big deal here. At first, we were put off by the garish pink color of the candied almonds, but the more we walked around, the more we realized that pink pralines were a specialty of Lyon--- all the patisseries looked like French Baker Barbie had set up shop.
"This is the best thing I've ever tasted," said Trish as she bit into a tender sable base with a pink praline caramel on top.”
― Amy Rosen, Off Menu

“The wallpaper was, as Morven had promised, pink, with little rosettes trailing up and down, and the bedspread and all the pillows were also pink, although nearer a blush than the sickly magenta doilies on the desk.
When Ismay spotted the wildflowers in the corner, she exclaimed. Morven had made them sound like a few spare blooms, but this vase overflowed with every sort of blossom she could imagine.”
― Robyn J Pritzker, The Moonsingers: A Cozy Fairy Tale

“We were so worried about you,” Vanessa said when Jimena finally joined them. She was vamped-out in a lavender bustier, her arabesque tattoo luminescent. She had extended the design with makeup over her chest and spiked her soft curls with strands of purple.
“We weren’t sure what to do, so we came here and hoped you’d show up.” Catty hugged her. Her makeup gave her a sassy look. She wore an off-the-shoulder T with iridescent pants. Shocks of hot pink flashed in her hair and down her bare arm in body-paint swirls.”
― Lynne Ewing, The Choice

“Pen’s dorm is absolutely crammed full of electronic equipment. Given their retro style of dress and their romance book obsession (I’m pretty sure they’re a book influencer in their spare time), I hadn’t expected anything so… tech heavy.
But in complete contrast to the electronics, their decor is all vintage. Fussy, even. Large-print floral curtains, crocheted rugs, and lace doilies, all in tones of pink and green. Books cover every surface. In the center is the pièce de résistance: a shiny, chrome-legged-1950s-style laminate table with four matching hot pink chairs.
It’s incredible, because two weeks ago I’d never ventured into anyone’s room at Seamere except for mine and Heloise’s. Since then, I’ve been inside Harrisford’s, Conall’s, and now Pen Ferguson’s room. And I think, of all of them, this one might be my favorite.”
― Keshe Chow, Strange Familiars

“Ah, Turkish delight. I bet you’ve never tasted such a thing.”
Lord Hawkdale proffered her a gilded dish, piled with seashell-pink, powder-dusted nuggets.
“Your mother doesn’t like them.” He barked a laugh and shot Judith a grin. “But you, little one, with so much of the exotic about you…”
They glowed, the sweets. Candlelight glancing through each small, translucent chunk. A scent rose off them, blocking out the room. More insistent than the fact she was full, too full, already. More important than her mother’s fingers gripping the stem of her glass, her tight lips. Minha reached out a hand, lifted one sweet away from the pile, and bit into it. It revealed an interior like jelly, like rose-tinted glass. The powder was sweet, sugar-dust; it dissolved on her tongue on impact.
“Oh!”
Her eyes widened, and she lifted them to see round dark eyes smiling encouragement. For a moment, just a moment, she thought of a father she didn’t know.
Lord Hawkdale was still, his hand against her neck. She breathed, focused on the tastes filling her senses, took a step away.
“Soft sugar, and lemons,” she began. “There’s something else. Something… it can’t be, but it tastes like roses smell, like the pale pink ones in Regent’s Park near the statue.”
“Judith, you’ve got a budding connoisseur on your hands.”
― Catherine Kurtz, Feast

“I’m dazed, trembling in the brand-new dress. It’s a gorgeous pastel pink, with half sleeves that puff like a drooping petal and a sweetheart neckline above a corset with white boning and intricately laced satin ribbons. Pale chiffon flowers dot the bodice and decorate the dress, both on top and under a tulle skirt that floats in waterfall layers like the head of a bell flower. It’s beautiful.”
― Becky Jenkinson, Wildflower

“What’s this?” he asks in surprise, looking at the rich pink tone of the ruby chocolate I used to coat the truffle.
“It’s a truffle,” I explain. “I made them.”
He takes one and examines it. “Why is it pink?”
“I used ruby chocolate. It’s naturally pink,” I explain. “Most cocoa beans are fermented, but these are left unfermented and then combined with natural acids to produce the pink color. Also a very pleasant creamy texture. Try it.”
“Emmie, is this rose I taste in the filling”— Henry poked his head into the bathroom where we’re standing— “and… cardamom, perhaps?”
“Exactly!” I beam at him. “You win a prize.” I offer him another truffle. “Those are rose petals from our own garden.”
― Rachel Linden, A Sprinkle of Sweet Serendipity

“Misty and Bonbon finally finish their last pull of my braid, and I make my way back into my bedroom, my feet stepping from frosty strawberry-veined marble to warm wood. Buttery sunlight spills from my curtain-framed windows. The middle pane is stained glass and the rose-colored pieces filter the morning through them, bathing my room in pink light.
I told you… dreamy.”
― Alex Aster, Barbie: Dreamscape

“But I always, only and devotedly, wear pink, since it was my mother’s favorite color.
The shade of pink that Wardrobe offers varies almost daily, usually corresponding to my moods: magenta when I’m feeling bold, dusty pink when I’m feeling reflective, bubble gum on Tuesdays, candy pink on holidays, lavender when I’m sad (never!).
Clothing has always been my armor. My mother made all my outfits. It was her talent. And when I stand before Wardrobe every morning, deciding how to present myself to the world, I can almost feel her, shining through satiny fabrics and intricate designs, cloaking me in love.”
― Alex Aster, Barbie: Dreamscape

“I’m facing my mother’s statue, located between the base of the two curling staircases in the school’s main hallway. It’s sculpted in her likeness and dressed with the outfit she died fighting in— the glimmering pink armor she designed.
Yes, she was a warrior and a fashion icon. She contained multitudes.”
― Alex Aster, Barbie: Dreamscape